


Sword and Shield

by Kaoru_chibimaster



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Brotherhood, FFXV kinkmeme, Gen, non explicit prompt, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 18:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12304596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaoru_chibimaster/pseuds/Kaoru_chibimaster
Summary: It was Gladio's dream to be the shield of a great king. Unfortunately, he never believed Prince Noctis would be that great king. Not until his father makes him realize how long of a way the prince has to go.





	Sword and Shield

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for [this awesome prompt](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4113.html?thread=7153425#cmt7153425) on the kinkmeme.

Iris peeked around the doorway of her father’s study, blinking owlish eyes at him. He hadn’t noticed her yet, still wrapped up in his work, and it was a bit discouraging to the five year old. She wasn’t entirely sure how to approach this topic with her father, certain that he knew because he was her dad. And her dad knew everything. Right? But he could also be a bit scary when he was disciplining his children and Iris didn’t want to turn his ire on her older brother more than it probably already was. Was it? Honestly, she wasn’t even sure of that.

Which was why she made it her mission to know.

Clearing her throat quietly, and subsequently coughing as she hadn’t expected it to feel so rough, she watched as her father froze a bit in surprise before looking up at her.

“Iris?”

“…Papa?”

Standing up from his desk, Clarus rushed over to Iris and crouched down, holding her shoulders as he checked her over.

“Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

He no doubt had noticed that her eyes were red rimmed from crying, her pink sleeves crumpled from having rubbed them over her face to wipe away her tears. That hadn’t worked well with her older brother, however, and it seemed it wouldn’t with her father either as her eyes blurred up again.

“Gladdy’s not in trouble…is he?” she sniffled, trying her hardest to hold in the last of the sobs she hadn’t managed to let out downstairs. Clarus’ brow creased in confusion, much to Iris’ surprise. She had expected yelling: yelling at her for getting lost, yelling at Gladdy for disrespecting the prince, yelling in general because that was what dads did when they got super angry. They yelled. They apologized for it later, for ‘losing their temper’ they would say, but they still yelled. And then the groundings started. Clarus, however, did not raise his voice. Did not even open his mouth as he waited for Iris to elaborate.

“Is he?” Iris pressed. “Is Gladdy in trouble for what he said?”

“What did he say, Iris?” Clarus asked.

Iris’ eyes widened, almost impossibly as they were already so open with nervousness, as she started to process the possibility that maybe her father <i>didn’t</i> know. Maybe he hadn’t heard the things her brother was saying. She’d threatened earlier to tell him, but had never followed through on it, believing that somehow maybe he’d learned of her big brother Gladio’s words on his own. Now she was put on the spot as her father waited for her to answer his question. It was terrifying, knowing she’d be the one to release this information now. She felt the tears finally spill over.

And she spoke.

Clarus listened quietly as she went over Gladdy’s insults towards Prince Noctis, how his constant talk of the young royal spurred Iris’ own interest in him, how she wanted to know if he truly was as spoiled and intolerable as Gladdy said, how she’d gotten distracted by a cat and wandered out of the palace, how she’d gotten lost and Prince Noctis saved her, how angry Gladdy had been about the whole thing… Clarus’ mouth formed a thin line, a sign of his upset at the situation, but he never interrupted. He only let Iris speak, saving his commentary until the end.

When Iris finished, she felt almost exhausted. It was already past her bed time, and on top of that she’d been crying almost all evening, in between getting lost, telling Gladdy what really happened, crying over the very idea of getting the prince in trouble, and now this. Filling her father in on the entire mess the day had been was the final straw for her, and she blinked tiredly as Clarus processed everything she said. Sighing, he grabbed Iris and picked her up, standing as he settled her in his arms.

“Iris, you’ve been through a lot today and it’s time you went to bed. Tomorrow, I’ll speak to you about the dangers of wandering by yourself and intruding upon the royal family, but for now I want you to sleep.”

“But…but Gladdy,” she slurred, her head resting on her father’s shoulders. She wasn’t quite so concerned about that talk. She knew going to the Citadel uninvited had been wrong, and stamping her feet about seeing the prince had been the exact sort of behavior her father taught her not to exhibit, so she couldn’t argue with her own punishment. But Gladdy…what would happen to him? He was supposed to be the shield of the king, and his behavior was under far more scrutiny than her own. What would happen when it was found out that he insulted the very prince he was supposed to protect?

“Let me worry about Gladiolus. I’ll have to speak with him as well,” Clarus said. Iris closed her eyes then, tuckered out from the amount of activity and drama that had filled her day.

As Clarus placed her into her bed, pulling her sheets over her and tucking her in comfortably, he found himself going through a series of emotions. He understood how his son felt, he really did. He’d been through it before. But it was still inexcusable for him to speak of his prince in such a way. And yet, he knew this wasn’t a matter to be fixed with punishments (not that he wouldn’t be dishing those out too, because it was <i>still</i> inexcusable regardless of Gladiolus’ knowledge on the situation) but instead with talking and understanding. And he went down the stairs to do exactly that.

He found his son crouched on the floor, sweaty and hunched over from exercise—a habit he’d picked up as a way to exert pent up frustration when his own temper got the better of him—as he stared at the floor solemnly. Clarus could only imagine what thoughts were going through his mind, having made his little sister cry and such. They’d have to be pushed aside however. It wasn’t time for Gladiolus to mope, it was time for him to listen.

“So you think our prince is a spineless brat, hmm?”

Gladiolus’ face crumpled a bit in shame, but he still refused to look up at his father when he spoke.

“Well?” Clarus asked, wanting to hear his son’s side of the story.

“…Sorry, sir.”

“No,” Clarus interrupted. “I don’t want to hear ‘sorry’. I want you to answer my question.”

Sighing, Gladiolus nodded, still staring at the floor. “Yes. I thought he was.”

“Thought?”

“Well…” Gladiolus hesitated a bit, choosing his words carefully. “I can’t exactly call him spineless anymore. Not with what he did for Iris.”

“And what did he do for Iris?” Clarus asked. He knew the answer. But hearing the words from his son’s own mouth made all the difference.

“…He brought her back to the Citadel when she got lost…and took the blame for her getting lost in the first place.”

Clarus sat down in front of Gladiolus then, wanting to speak with him on equal footing instead of staring down at him imposingly. Sighing, he reached over and patted Gladiolus’ shoulder, waiting until the teen looked up to meet his eyes before starting again.

“That doesn’t sound so spineless to me. In fact, I’d say it’s very brave to put oneself at risk for the sake of protecting another. A feat us shields know all too personally.”

Gladiolus’ eyebrows pulled together, contemplating as he processed the meaning behind Clarus’ words.

“Listen Gladiolus, as the king’s shields, we must not falter in our faith of—”

“But how can I have faith in such a spoiled prince?” Gladiolus suddenly shouted. “He did one good deed, certainly, and I’m grateful that he saved Iris. But what else has he done? How else has he proven he’s ready to be king when all he does is whine and slack off in training? He’d have been even worse for not helping Iris; is it so hard to expect a modicum of humanity out of him? How does that excuse—”

“Silence!”

Gladiolus’ mouth snapped shut as Clarus raised his voice. The ire he’d felt at listening to Iris’ story came back to him, pushed down only by his need to get his son to _understand_.

“He is a child, Gladiolus. A ten year old child who’s seen more death and destruction in a matter of months then most grown men have seen in their lifetime.”

Gladiolus sat silently, waiting for his father to continue.

“You remember two years ago when I’d spent all that time at the Citadel?”

Gladio nodded. “That was when the daemon attack happened, right?”

“Indeed it was.” The images of the aftermath still haunted Clarus, angered at himself for not being there to protect both king and prince. For not being able to bring the haunted look out of Regis’ eyes. For only watching in horror as a blood covered eight year old was taken into the palace hospital, lost to a comatose state with seemingly no end. Stuck in his own personal hell when he was told he might never walk again. Given a small sliver of salvation when he was brought to Tenebrae, a trip Clarus insisted on joining in despite the further strain it had put on his children, only to have it ripped away as Fenestala Manor was set aflame and the Tenebraen queen murdered. Only to watch helplessly as further bloodshed filled his life, a preview of the suffering he would likely have to endure for the rest of his life.

“Gladiolus, I had to stay at the Citadel to handle affairs Regis refused to touch, still glued to his son’s bedside. Prince Noctis was comatose for most of that time, and lame during his waking hours. A child that was excitable and prone to exploring, who would play games and chatter your ear off, was told he’d never walk again. He was haunted by the memories of his entire guard dying before his eyes, the weight of his own dead caretaker upon his back as he was left at the mercy of a creature Niflheim sent to the wall for the sole purpose of ending his life. The staff at the citadel does its best to comfort him from the trauma he still suffers, and even long after regaining the use of his legs, as well as the comfort and safety of the Citadel walls, he has not regained his peace of mind. You cannot blame him then for his unresponsive demeanor, nor for his tendency to push people away. And certainly not for the way he’s treated within the Citadel. After all, Gladiolus, I think it’s a given that a prince be a bit spoiled.”

Gladiolus only stared at Clarus, his wide eyed stare mirroring the look his sister had moments ago. He seemed to be slowly processing the information he was given. The very idea that the prince might not be as he seemed penetrated the wall Gladiolus had built up, permeating his thoughts. It was a sobering experience being proven so wrong, Clarus knew, and so he decided to try a different approach to help soothe his son's racing mind.

“Listen son,” Clarus started. “I was in the same position as you once. Regis, too, was a spoiled and entitled child.”

“No way,” Gladiolus said, eyebrows raised. “The king?”

“Well he wasn’t always king. He had to grow into his role through learning and experience. And it was a bumpy road the entire way. How do you think I felt teaching someone five years my junior how to stop being childish and learn responsibility? Do you want to know the sort of trouble Regis got into?”

Clarus paused for a moment, realizing that was a question Gladiolus might have wanted answered. They'd be there all night if he went into that.

“Never mind, no you don’t.”

“But I—”

“ _No. You don't_.”

“Okay…”

“My point is…in time, Noctis will grow into himself and become the king he's destined to be. It may take him a while and the road may be even bumpier than Regis', and you'll just have to be patient with him—after all, traumatic events don’t just go away because they’re inconvenient.”

Gladiolus was quiet for a moment before he nodded.

“I understand.”

“Good. And Gladiolus, it’s okay to complain once in a while. Heavens know Regis still drives me up a wall sometimes. But perhaps you'd do well to get to know Prince Noctis before you judge him so severely.”

Clarus snapped his fingers then. “In fact, I know just what your punishment will be.”

Gladiolus cringed a bit at the word punishment, a tiny, sheepish frown on his face, before straightening up and nodding again. Clarus snorted lightly at the behavior.

“You didn’t think you'd actually get away with disrespecting your prince, did you?”

Clarus stood then, and Gladiolus followed suit.

“Gladiolus,” Clarus said, his voice authoritative. “You are to double your training sessions in frequency, duration and intensity for the rest of this month.”

“Yes, sir.”

“ _All_ of your training sessions,” Clarus stressed. Gladiolus furrowed his brows slightly, confused no doubt.

“Yes, sir…?”

“That includes sessions with the prince. Do yourselves a favor and start spending quality time together. Maybe then you'll start to see him as more than a ‘spoiled brat'.”

Gladiolus nodded then, understanding what his father was getting at. He was still being grounded for his behavior, but this was also Clarus' way of correcting his negative attitude towards the prince before it got so out of hand again. For his part, Gladiolus wasn’t entirely sure how well that'd work out, but he supposed the prince _did_ save Iris, so he'd be willing to _try_.

And so the next day when he found himself standing in the doorway of the prince's rooms, who was fiddling with the pencil in his hand as he stared out the window, Gladio wasn’t quite so tempted to start a fight. It wasn’t quite so easy to find a conversation starter either though, and he'd gone through a number of false starts before finally settling on something simple.

“What, done already?” he'd asked lamely, hoping to come across as casual and nonthreatening. Not that it mattered much to the prince as he turned a somewhat cold gaze on Gladio before returning to the work he hadn’t even been doing before Gladio showed up.

“Homework?” he tried again. He wasn’t going to give into that bratty attitude that easil—er, he wasn’t going to give up so easily.

“Project from my tutor,” came Prince Noctis' quiet response. “I have to do it ‘cause I'm grounded.”

Him and Gladio both. Gladio stood there for a while, feeling awkward and out of place, as he watched the prince continue to scribble on his paper before he looked up again.

“What?”

“Even if you can’t go out, you can still train right?” Gladio asked, determined to go through with the work his father had set out for him. What kind of shield would he be, after all, if he couldn’t even convince his future king to train?

“I think I've got enough to do already,” came Prince Noctis' quick and snippy reply. Gladio didn’t let it get to him, fighting the urge to roll his eyes and instead pressing his invitation.

“Come on, you’re not the only one being punished here,” he sighed. Prince Noctis raised his eyebrows curiously, watching Gladio for a moment. But Gladio still counted it as a win when the young prince stood from his seat, following the older boy out of the room as Gladio started towards the training hall. It was a silent walk, but it was a comfortable silence. Prince Noctis kept his eyes straight ahead as he walked, a blank expression on his face. Gladio thought back to his father’s words, to how Prince Noctis was still struggling with the terrible things that had happened in his past, and realized that his behavior towards the prince was truly uncalled for. And to think the prince used to be chatty and energetic…

Gladio resolved then and there that he would try to pull Prince Noctis out of his shell. As shield of the king, he was supposed to be Prince Noctis' guide, mentor and pillar. And maybe, despite their rocky start, he would also be his friend.


End file.
